


Love is...Staunch

by and_what_the_hell_is_love



Series: The Witcher: Love is... [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Action/Adventure, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt, Jealousy, M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_what_the_hell_is_love/pseuds/and_what_the_hell_is_love
Summary: Part 2 of The Witcher Love is...Series
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher: Love is... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672705
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Love is...Staunch

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of The Witcher Love is...Series

Love is…  
Staunch

~~~~~~~

Things were quiet tonight, and while the witcher would've usually appreciated it, the deathly silence now suffocated him.

The katydids and crickets no longer filled the night with their chirps. There was no wind rustling the green leaves in the ceiling of trees above them. The sounds of small animals scurrying around the forest were gone, as were the birds in the trees. The last embers of the fire had gone out long ago, leaving the pit silent and only slightly filling the air with smoke.

The witcher had an inkling something may be wrong outside his tent, but he ignored it as he was exhausted and didn’t want to wake his friend, who for the first time in a while, was having a full night’s sleep.

The young bard’s slow heartbeat and shallow breaths were lulling the witcher to sleep, and as the older man closed his eyes, his nose was filled with the sweet scent of cedar wood and raspberries.

That’s when he heard it.

Just outside, barely audible, was another’s breath. These were different from the bards; they were sharp, they were ragged, and they smelled foul. Smelled like rot and excrement. Like blood and bile.

Then an ear-splitting screech filled the air and a pair of razor-sharp claws tore through the thin fabric of their lodgings. The experienced witcher shot up out of his bedroll while the young man next to him got tangled in his while trying to rise. As the witcher drew his sword, the bard had finally managed to stand up, but tripped over his sheets when stepping out of them. While on the ground, the bard took his misfortune as an opportunity to slide his shoes onto his feet, and the witcher hoisted him up by his arm while the claws ripped through the tent again.

With his silver, the witcher slashed at the claws as they tore again through the canvas. Another blood-curdling screech pierced through the air, and beside him, the bard covered his bleeding ears.

The witcher stepped through the tears in the cloth to be greeted with another scream, this time from far above him. Geralt was certain of it now as he noticed muddy feathers gliding down from above -- the beast he was to fight was a nasty one. One he alone had had many run-ins with before. One the bard had never faced.

“What in the flaming hell is that thing?” Jaskier called out to him from still inside the tent. The witcher looked back to the bard to see him still covering his ears, with blood seeping through the cracks in his hands. Humans weren’t made to handle the earth shattering screams of she-devils, and Geralt worried the damage may already be done.

“Harpy,” the witcher called back. Confusion crossed over the bard’s face, but was soon replaced by pure excitement.

Before the younger man could make another remark, the creature screamed again, this time diving down to attack the witcher, who swung at the beast.

A kind of dance began, where the creature would attack and the witcher would defend, but he could never hit the beast. And once he finally did, he almost wished he didn’t.

As Geralt caught the beast’s side, it flew back and crashed into the tent, tearing the canvas to shreds. And from inside, the witcher could hear another scream. One that was human. One that belonged to a humble bard with no way of defending himself.

In an instant, the harpy tore back through the canvas with bloodlust in her eyes, and the witcher, calm and collected, stood his ground as the beast dove towards him. Stood his ground until she reached him and he swung. The body of the beast fell to the ground, and its head rolled towards the witcher's feet.

Behind him, the witcher could hear another fast beating heart, rugged breaths, and smell not the stench of harpy, but of human blood. The witcher turned to see his lodgings torn to shreds and a bard clutching his side, gasping at the pain the monster brought upon his skin. Quickly, the witcher made his way over to his friend, whose pained expression caused the witcher to regret letting his guard down.

With gentle hands, or as gentle as he could be, the witcher slowly removed the bard’s hand from his side and looked to the younger man.

The bard gave a weak laugh to the witcher with a hint of tears in his eyes. “Oh look, now I’ll have a scar to go with the songs, hmm? I’m on my way to becoming a real adventurer, don’t you think?” He asked, talking through the pain.

“You know, Geralt, this will make great inspiration for my next ballad. Or should it be a reel? I was thinking maybe something upbeat, what do you think? Now that I think about it, a ballad wouldn’t really fit, now would it? It’s no matter, and you can wipe that serious expression off your face. I’m sure I’ll be fine. How bad is it anyway?” The bard asked, trying to look at the wound, flinching in pain as he did so.

“Relax,” said the witcher, the words more to himself than to the bard.

Saying the wound was bad would be an understatement. The jagged edges of the bard’s flesh were stained as red as fresh raspberries, blood was heavily pouring out of the laceration, and the witcher had to put the bard’s hand back onto the wound to slow down the bleeding.

The bard’s naturally bright eyes had gone dim. His hands trembled. And his breath shook. And his jaw clenched. And his lips quivered. And he was in pain.

The fragrance of the bard’s blood now flooded the witcher’s nostrils: a sickly sweet metallic scent that made the witcher’s blood boil knowing it belonged to the innocent songbird. The bard’s face, usually filled with life and color, was now whiter than fresh snow, and his hands were redder than the petals of a rose or the wings of a cardinal.

“Hold here, tightly,” Geralt said to the wounded man, pressing his hands firmly against the liaison. The bard did as he was told while the witcher tore a long piece of canvas from the shredded tent. With it, he wrapped the bard’s wound, knowing he would soon need to find a permanent solution, for he knew a human with a wound as bad as Jaskier’s could not last long without proper medicines.

After a sharp whistle, Roach made her way over to the pair, where the witcher lifted the younger man onto the horse. Geralt then pulled himself up behind the bard and grabbed onto his mare’s reigns, encaging the hurt man in his steel arms.

Quickly but carefully, the witcher made his way back to a small town they had passed on their way to Novigrad, hoping they might have some kind of doctor, healer, or herbalist. When the men arrived in the town, Jaskier had already passed out from pain and blood loss, and there was no medic anywhere near the village. Luckily for the bard, there was a witch not far to the south, and while the witcher would rather not get tangled up with yet another mage, he knew he had no choice if he were to save his friend’s life.

As the witcher made his way to the witch’s hut, he found he could barely focus on the path ahead of him. Where he was usually extremely aware of everything he passed by, Geralt now could only focus on the pained breathing of his unconscious bard. The witcher couldn’t tell if was his own self or the bard trembling, and tried to keep the smell of the Jaskier’s blood and fear from engulfing his senses.

Upon reaching the witch’s cottage, Geralt didn’t bother tying up Roach. Instead, he hastily grabbed the bard, who was still asleep, and banged on the witch’s door with his foot. A small, dark woman opened it cautiously, but once she saw the wolf pendant on the witcher’s chest, the witch slammed it shut.

“I’ve hurt nobody, Witcher,” she called, tears welling in her throat. “Please leave me!”

Geralt sighed, saying, “I’m not here for your head, Witch.”

Fear swept through her words, “Then why? You hunt monsters, and most humans call me one. Well let me tell you witcher, I’ve done nothing but help the people of this town!”

“Nobody sent me to kill you,” said the witcher. “I’m here of my own accord.”

Confusion in her voice could be heard when she asked, “Why?”

“I need your help.”

The witch cracked the door open, and this time her amber eyes made their way to the bard in the witcher’s arms. “Desperately, it seems,” she said in a soft voice, opening the door fully and gesturing the witcher inside.

As he entered the house, the witch shut the door behind him. “Here,” said the woman, gesturing towards a small bed in the entrance room. The witcher layed the young man on the cot while the witch grabbed diverse herbs and cloths from scattered cabinets and drawers. She pushed the witcher out of the way, who in turn grabbed her petite hand and glared into her dark irises.

“If you want me to help him,” she said, “then you must give me my space. Please wait outside.”

She met golden eyes, which were shooting daggers into her own and continued, “I can’t concentrate with you in here, Witcher. Leave me.”

With a final glance at his friend, the witcher turned from the young witch and left, slowly, as to make sure the wench wasn’t going to harm her charge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a short while, the woman joined him outside. The witcher looked to her, which prompted her to speak.

“I don’t work for free, Witcher. I need a favor.”

“What is it?” the witcher asked, knowing he didn’t have a choice. Sure, he could threaten her, but she could just as easily undo her spells of healing on the bard.

“I’m having a problem with a monster near one of my gardens. A cockatrice actually. If you can, I need you to kill it and bring it back to me with as little damage to it as necessary.”

The witcher squinted his eyes at the witch, “A cockatrice? Those are-”

“Incredibly rare?” The witch squealed, jumping up, causing her long dark curls to bounce. “I know! That’s why I need it back. I would like to study it and use it for potions and such.”

The witcher closed his eyes, thinking. He breathed out and opened his eyes to meet hers.

“...Fine. Where is it?”

She pointed to a direction opposite of her home, saying, “Just a mile east. It’s a fairly large garden, hard to miss, full of hawthorne and verbena. If you do this for me Witcher, I’ll not only make sure your friend heals up nicely. But I’ll be in your debt.”

The witcher grunted, whistled for his mare, and rode off towards the beast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon his return, laughter and relaxed conversation could be heard from inside the house, which no longer smelled of blood, but now of mistletoe and orchids. The witcher heaved the cockatrice off of his mare and onto his shoulder, and made his way inside the witch’s cottage.

When opening the door, the witcher was greeted with a familiar smell of cedarwood and raspberries, along with the smile of his now healed friend.

Periwinkle eyes met his golden ones, and Jaskier flashed his alabaster teeth in the witcher’s direction, causing the witch to follow his gaze.

“Geralt!” exclaimed the bard, “I assume you’ve met Lyria as she is the beautiful woman that saved my dearly lustrous life.”

The bard looked back to the pretty witch and greeted her with an affable smile, and in return she granted him an alluring one.

The witcher could see it now. The way she placed her hand on top of his. The way she slightly pushed her chest up on her arms as she leaned against the table. The way her heart beat sped up slightly everytime the bard smiled at her. The way her cheeks flushed when he had spoken well of her. She fancied the bard.

She took his kindness and compliments the way anybody would, not knowing that, while he was flirting, he had no real intention of seeing this woman ever again.

She gazed at him with her chocolate gold eyes and batted her lashes slowly. Softly, she traced the back of his hand while he spoke and leaned in closer to him. But the bard didn’t notice. Instead he rambled to her. About his travels. About his music. About Geralt.

And the witch listened intently while she searched his eyes and smiled at his laugh. The witcher rolled his eyes to himself and wondered just how humans could have so much raw desire, not only for sex, but for love and companionship.

The witcher placed the cockatrice on the table between the pair and looked to the bard. “Stay if you’d like, but the sun is setting, and I have a job elsewhere.”

The bard stood from his seat, jumped almost, and turned towards the witch. “Lyria,” he said, taking her hand in his, “it was wonderful to meet you, and I hope we once again cross paths, as I believe our destinies were meant to intertwine. Thank you for everything you’ve done, I will forever be in your debt."

The witch blushed and said her farewells, then saw the men to the door. Once outside and out of earshot of the witch, Jaskier spoke.

“Nice trick that, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The witcher glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow, and made his way to his mare.

Jaskier continued, “Oh don’t play coy. You were trying to leave me with the witch so I couldn’t come to Novigrad with you. And, while I will say it was clever, even a beautiful maiden couldn’t keep me away from my true passion.”

“Which is?” He asked, climbing on to his horse.

“Writing songs about great adventures and even greater heroes, of course!”

The witcher held a hand out to the bard, “I’m no hero, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smirked, taking it and climbing behind him, “Maybe not, but you are an adventure, and wherever your blade swings I will trudge.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope I could make someone's day just a little better with this story! I love this world and it's characters and I hope you like the way I portray them! Love you all! ❤️
> 
> PS. I kinda wanted to use the phrase "cool as a cucumber" but decided "calm and collected" worked better in describing the sullen White Wolf


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